


Like Ants To A Picnic

by ballpoint



Category: Marvel Adventures: Avengers
Genre: Comic Book Science, F/M, Fluff, Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint/pseuds/ballpoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank really likes Jan, and wants to make his intentions be known to her, but things keep getting in the way, such as hickory sauce, and ants. Huh, it's Marvel Adventures, so it's probably a Thursday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Ants To A Picnic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Traincat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/gifts).



> Written for Traincat for Yuletide! I do hope it suits.

"What do you think?" Jan stood, back facing the mirror, as she craned her head over her shoulder to look at her reflection. "Does my butt look big in this?"

"You grow to sixty feet when needed, Jan, the question is relative." Ororo replied, her fists resting against her hips. Only Ororo could make an ordinarily brusque masculine move look so _regal_ , Jan thought, as she smoothed the material over her butt. Considering, Jan tilted her head to the side, unsure with the drape of the dress, and wondered if its skirt could be flared more.

"True," Jan pursed her lips. Her butt didn't look any bigger in this, but... "I'm not taking this," she decided at last. "I have a sewing machine, some bales of fabric, and a few spools of string. I can do better."

Ororo raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitched with amusement. "Your father's company picnic is in one week. Do you think having a début of your dressmaking skills at that point will be wise?"

"I'm an Avenger, we don't do wise." Jan stood on one leg, and as soon as her fingers clasped the zipper, she gave it a yank.

* * *

Hank yanked his hand free from the aquarium. He flicked off the drops of water from his fingers, as the octopus folded its tentacles across its chest, and floated away. Not before she- and Hank was willing to bet his many Ph.D's at the fact that it might have been a she, because no male of any species could do _that_ look- did a little lift of her head, half askance, all scorn.

"Yowza," he breathed.

"Is there a reason why you're poking at Amelia? Have you come back to reclaim your formicarium?" Bruce, absently pushed his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"No, I-" Hank stopped, pressed his lips together. He didn't need that colony of ants which he gave to Bruce. He had plenty. In addition, he didn't know why he was here in Bruce's lab - although, he did know. Each scientist on the team had their own labs; Tony squirrelled away in the basement, 'making science', Bruce in his own wing, conducting experiments on gamma rays. Hank, being into insects had his lab at the bottom of the garden, and Spidey, being more of a dilettante than having any scientific speciality, swung through all three.

"No reason," Hank sighed, his helmet now under his arm. "Next week is the Van Dyne company picnic, and I'm thinking about asking Jan. On a date, I mean." A slow burn bloomed across his cheeks, as he wondered why he was even telling Bruce this. Total self assured, one man is an island Bruce Banner - with his angry green giant alter ego for company.

"To her own father's company picnic? That's... convenient. And awkward." Bruce swiped a tablet off the nearby desk, and started typing information on the screen, his fingers a blur as he narrowed his eyes on the computer programme in front of him.

"I know," Hank nodded, wishing that his costume had pockets, and wondering why he never thought about that in the first place. "I- it's just that Jan doesn't know that I'm alive."

"I think she knows that you're sentient," Bruce tapped more figures on the tablet, deep in thought. "We all do. You're a teammate, after all."

Hank opened his mouth to speak, raised his index finger to make a point, only to realise that Bruce was in 'the Zone' where he was listening but not listening.

"You might want to tweak your equations to take into account that ants have been around for millions of years. They've _evolved_ ," Hank groused, as he turned on his heel and walked off.

"Hmm..." Bruce paused, tablet in the crook of his hand as if it were a baby, and he stroked his chin, his frown thoughtful. "Thanks, Hank."

* * *

Three times a year, the van Dynes opened their house and the grounds in upper NYC to the public. The New Year's Ball, where people made resolutions towards patronising various charities for the coming year, the Spring Time Easter Egg hunt, for the various children's charities in New York, and in the height of summer, the summer picnic, open to all employees and their friends.

The weather, obviously well aware of the importance of the day, arranged itself to suit. Characteristic humidity held at bay with fresh breezes, the sky, a bowl of deep, unflecked cerulean blue, no clouds to mar its surface. The grounds were spread before them, undulating carpets of green that caught your eye and stretched it into forever, with just the sight sparkle of water here and there, the lakes made for sailing, and swimming. Then, because when it came to hospitality, the van Dynes were never less than perfect; wooden tables with checked cloths, bowed down by the weight of food, ranging from the sweet old fashioned candy colours of jelly domes to the intricate _avante garde_ of vegetarian cuisine packed in iced containers. And because life hated and pitied Hank in equal amounts, Jan was right there at the end of the table, serving plates of food to everyone.

"Hey, Hank," she greeted. Jan had done something to her hair, which made it shimmer and bounce with reflected light, like the lake behind her. She was clad in a summer dress, the colour of amber, which showed off her bare shoulders, a deep red obi, sashed firmly around her wasp like waist, and the full skirt with some material lighter than air floated around her calves. It was as if she had her own breeze and -

"-dirt."

"What? Sorry?" Hank blinked, not wanting to tear his gaze from hers. Jan's eyes were the colour of the sky around them. So clear and perfect. The expression in them so _warm_ , the sensation in his chest warm and _sticky_.

"I said," Jan smiled, gesturing towards his chest. "I think you got sauce down your shirt."

Hank looked down, and yes, indeedy, hickory sauce, hot and piping from Logan's barbecue (Logan had dibs on the grill whatever the occasion), slid from his plate, on to his shirt and slacks.

"Oh, ah," Hank's cheeks flamed, and that wasn't because he had Wolverine's sauce on his tongue, by gum, but embarrassment, times infinity. "Oh, you see, something funny happened, I forgot my tie, and I thought if I dribbled hickory sauce all over my shirt, you wouldn't notice. Look ma, no tie."

 _Oh, Hank_ groaned that voice in the back of his head. The steady, sturdy one, the one that steered him wise in terms of experiments and being the Ant whisperer. _Are you eating paste?_

"You might be on to something," Jan nodded, her features serious, but her eyes betraying her amusement. "I can see it. Fall/Winter 2012."

"Patone will have to come up with a new shade chart, because it's so out there, and so new."

Jan's smile grew wider, at the mention of the shade chart, and Hank's heart might have done a gold medal Olympic gymnastics routine in his chest, with ribbons and hoops to boot, as she grabbed him by the wrist.

"Come this way," she smiled. "There are mobile restrooms all about, I'm sure we can get you cleaned up."

* * *

When Hank calculated the hypothetical situations of himself and Jan in the same room together, he had ideas.

Ideas along the lines of dancing, candle light, probably ice cream (Jan ate ice cream, didn't she? Mistrusted gelato, but then ice cream in Europe was _weird_ ). Or probably marooned on an island in the Pacific, with the Avengers crashing a plane into the side of a volcano after fighting Fing Fang Foom. Tony would have been off fixing the engine, while he and Jan gathered materials and exchanged long, slow looks along the lines of _Lost_.

Or, he might have asked her to dance at the party tonight, since he studied the ending in _Final Fantasy VIII: Waltz For The Moon Scene_.

Not this though, with him stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, and _oh_ mismatched socks, one red and the other... plaid. At her raised eyebrow, he quipped. "Oh, all socks look the same in the dark."

"Careful there, Marc Jacobs," Jan laughed. "First hickory sauce, now mismatched socks."

 _I wonder,_ he thought to himself, _can I have my palm surgically grafted to my face? Must investigate._

They both were in the mobile rest rooms, which just seemed to be like one of those posh bathrooms done for hotels along the park. A mirror with a vanity table with various SPFs and lotions, a basin with running water, sealed portaloos to the right, and a wee washing machine, that put Hank's clothing through its paces, his wallet vibrating on top of the small unit, change scattered everywhere.

"A washing machine?"

"That hickory sauce idea that you have? Every year, we get variations on the theme. Sometimes ketchup, other times Dijon mustard..." Jan counted off the items on her fingers.

Hank blushed, unable to hide his embarrassment. That would only be second to the old chestnut of, _It happens to everyone_ in more intimate circumstances.

"Nothing new under the sun, figures."

"Yeah," Jan tucked her hands into the pockets of her full skirt. Hah, she had pockets and—

"That's a nice dress."

"Oh yeah?" Jan did a pretty pirouette, her arms above her head as she twirled in front of him, her skirts lifting and spinning high around her thighs before drifting back down around to caress her calves again. Hank gave a soft sigh, his chin resting on his fist, his elbow leaning on the top of the machine.

 _You ought to be ashamed of yourself_ , that sturdy voice in his head again.

Hank didn't listen. Just looked at her even more.

 _I give up._

"I made it myself."

"Oh, yeah?" Hank nodded, clearing his throat, because his voice came out like a squeak before. "It looks... good."

"Yeah?" Jan brightened. "I had the idea in my head. Have had it in there for _ages_ and I-"

Only for her to be interrupted by horrified screams from outside, and Jan went into Avengers mode, as she scrambled across the room, and inched the curtain apart. "Omigosh," she squealed.

"Wait, what? Let me see?" Hank crossed the room and stood right beside her, his head swimming with her perfume. Or, it might have been the sight of giant green ants - each the size of a smart car, swarming around the grounds. People were screaming, and running pell mell everywhere.

"Oh man, don't you hate ants at a picnic?" Jan made to go, but not before she stopped and faced Hank.

"You stay here," she ordered, motioning him to stay well away from the entrance.

"But, I-"

"You don't have a costume, or equipment," she cut in. "You might get hurt." Jan then frowned, her mouth set in a thin line. "And I _liked_ this dress, too."

With that, she scrambled out of the tent, tearing across the lawn right towards the din; her mass expanding, her skirts getting shorter, her legs longer as she ran toward the ants.

She was right, but she was wrong as well, Hank admitted, as he ran over to the washing machine. He didn't have his costume, but - he emptied his wallet, searching amongst the coins that tumbled out, using his index finger to push them apart.

Ah ha. He found it, and gently placing an object the size of a nickel in his hand, Hank clamped his fist, and ran outside.

***

"Giant green ants?" Sticking to the trunk of one of the great trees on the grounds, Spidey pressed his middle fingers against the lever in his palms, as he webbed an ant right in its eyes. "Who would be making giant green ants and - you wanna dance? All right then!" he hooted. The ant didn't stop, dragging him in its wake. Spider man did a double somersault, before jumping on its back, trying to steer it towards the lake.

"That's all I needed, ants in mah grub." Wolverine growled, as he crouched in front of an oncoming ant, unleashing his claws with a _snickt_. "Come get it, bub."

"No clawing of living animals, Wolverine." Captain America hoisted his shield in front of him just in time to block the ant's mandibles with a THUNG! "We need to keep them occupied until Giant girl gets everyone to safety."

"No fun," Wolverine grunted, as he kicked at an ant's jointed leg. From his vantage point, being five four, he found himself under the ant's thorax. Well, if Spidey could do it... "Git along, little pony," he grunted, gently nudging the ant towards the stream with the point of his claws.

"Jan!" Ororo shouted, as the sky moved from blue to a steely grey, the temperature plummeting to a deep chill. "Get the rest of the people to safety."

"W-what are you g-g-going to do?" Jan chattered, before briefly hugging herself. "T-the t-temperature's suddenly gone frigid!"

"Sorry, friend," Ororo gestured, her hair swirling around her face as if she were underwater. "If I bring the temperatures down, the ants might go to sleep, thinking its winter. I'm trying to bring their bio rhythms into turmoil."

"And h-h-hypothermia for everyone else," Jan retorted, as she started scooping up people left and right, tucking them in the crook of her arms, like a girl gathering sticks in the woods. "Hey, don't tickle," she scolded the throng wriggling in her arms. "I might drop you, and its a long way down."

"I-" Bruce said, as he tried to tweak the tablet in his hand, oblivious to the storm and winds around him as he tried to work out what went wrong. "It can't be - the ants weren't-"

"Look out!" Tigra leaped on Bruce, and they narrowly avoided being hit by a lighting bolt.

"Hey, I -NO!" Bruce waved, but to no avail, as a stray bolt of lighting fried the tablet. He pushed Tigra off him, and scrambled over to the now blackened bits of plastic and metal.

"What's going on?"

"Greer, that was the tablet for controlling the ants. I wanted to see -"

"See?" Tigra hissed. "You've ruined the van Dyne's party, what is there to see?"

Bruce flinched at Tigra's tone. "Nothing," he said, dipping his head, the water streaming from his hair and glasses. "Nothing at all."

***

Hank winced as the raindrops pelted his skin with the sting of rocks. It didn't help that he was still in his boxers and undershirt, but at least he had his helmet, and he tried communicating to the ants.

He wasn't getting any signals, well, not the ones that he understood. It was as if his ants suddenly got up and started speaking Greek without a by your leave. Hank ran across the field, aiming to jump on a table and see if his signal could be stronger, but his dress shoes were no match for the ground, as he slid on the grass.

Winded, he could only stare as an ant, all green and gamma'd, thundered towards him, closing the distance between them of ten feet per second and he couldn't -

"[Gotcha!]" a voice said suddenly, and with a whoosh, Hank was swept off his feet and his stomach might have still been on the ground somewhere. Hank breathed with all the gratitude he could muster, "Shellhead, old pal, old buddy, am I glad to see you."

"[Is this your handiwork?]"

"I wish," Hank craned his neck to see. From this vantage point, in Ironman's arms, he could see the horde of ants below them, and Jan picking up people, and depositing them by the house.

"[Any ideas?]"

 _I'm just glad that they're Camponotus ants, than Formica ants,_ Hank thought. Formica ants tended to spray a sort of gas when alarmed, and at this size, it would have been fatal.8

"I'll need a wider radio frequency, just in order to tune in," Hank said. "If I have that, I might be able to focus on their frequency and make them stop."

"[I can do that]", Ironman said, and true to his word, he did. Hank felt the vibrations in his helmet, saw the patterns behind his eyelids, and smiled. Yeah, he knew what to do.

"Want to give me some juice, tin head?"

"[Sure.]"

Hank tapped his helmet. "Sock it to me."

Tony placed the tip of his gauntlet against Hank's helmet, and the jolt of power was almost too much to bear, but Hank found the signal, held it. _What's the frequency, Kenneth_ , that voice in his head again, but Hank ignored it, and focused.

Understanding something was akin to find the missing equation. Something as simple as, "What is X?" when the other variables were constant, a Rosetta stone for the unknown, as he locked into the frequency of the ants, and coaxed them to stop, to yield.

"More power, shell-head."

"[Hank-]"

"Just one more nudge, and I think we can turn them back."

"[Waves?]"

"Yeah, pretty much. I'm going to send the signal to you, and you're going to broadcast it, ghetto blaster style."

"['Ghetto blaster style']?"

"I'm a child of the eighties," Hank quipped, as he tweaked the dials on his helmet. "Deal, and get ready."

* * *

Jan deposited the rest of the guests at the entrance of her father's house, the last running down the ridge of her fingers, and her nail. "Lock the door," she boomed, as she used her index finger to click it shut.

"Darling," someone said in hushed tones of awe, and it might have been her father. "What will you do?"

"Get a huge can of _Raid_ ," Jan grinned, as she scraped a lock of hair from her face. "Ugh, gloss," she made a face. "Always sticks to my hair."

Jan stood up, squared her shoulders as she turned to face the ants. "It's clobbering time!" she exclaimed. The fantastic four wasn't here, and what the Thing didn't know, she couldn't be sued for trademark, right?

Only for a blast of sound to assail her eardrums, and with a squeal, Jan clapped her hands to her ears.

Hank and Tony opened up all streams, and focused on the swarm of ants.

["It's working. Hank-"]

"Just a little more," Hank wiped at his nose, not surprised to feel the slickness there. He just needed one notch more...

* * *

When Hank came to, he found himself in bed. Not his bed, though, his sheets weren't this clean, and - he sighed, allowing himself to sink into the bedcovers. Not this _nice_.

"It took you long enough." A voice, light and amused, drew him out of his musings.

"Jan."

"Hank," Jan smiled, as she leaned against the window sill, looking as fresh as the proverbial daisy. Her hair in a ponytail this time, and she clad in another summer dress, the flowers on the cloth as bright as the gardens outside.

"Where am I?"

"In the guest wing. We thought it would be unwise to move you, considering."

"Hmmm," Hank pushed himself to a seating position, dragging the covers over his chest. "Did we get rid of the ants?"

"Yeah. Bruce said something about owing you a new ant farm?"

"Those were my ants, huh?"

"Yeah," Jan nodded, as she crossed the room and sat at the edge of his bed. "He's sorry, he was trying to do some experiments with gamma rays and ants, but he miscalculated."

"So-"

Jan did a moue of sympathy, her eyes soft and on him. "Your frequency made them go 'splat'. They couldn't be saved."

"And Bruce?"

"He's coping, and going back to the drawing board. The picnic was ruined, so we're just going to top up the Christmas bonus for the workers, and have a better party over the Christmas. Sans ants."

Hank reached over, and patted the back of Jan's hand. "I know that you and your family put a lot into your outings, and I'm sorry that it got ruined."

"I knew we shouldn't have had it on a Thursday," Jan turned her hand under his, so that their palms faced each other, only for Hank to be suffused by blushes, and that warm glow in his chest again - that wasn't hickory sauce this time. "Strange things happen on a Thursday."

"I was-" he stopped, cleared his throat. "I was going to ask you out, on a date to your own picnic, I mean. So, uhhh, that would be another strange thing for a Thursday, right?"

Jan dipped her head, smiled at him from under lowered lashes, and Hank knew, he was toast. "There are stranger things."

"Jan, you want to go out, with me? Sometime next week, I mean?"

Jan leaned forward and patted him on the cheek. At this distance, she smelt of clean linens, with the sweetness of roses. Hank's heart dreamily spun in a circle and swooned. Formicariums, what formicariums?

"As long as it isn't Thursday."

"So, Friday?"

Jan beamed, her smile brighter and warmer than the sunsplashed gardens outside the room's window. "Friday it is," she said.

Fin.


End file.
